


it was always burning

by theycallmemonchaton



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Clint Barton is a Little Shit, M/M, bucky is adjusting and thriving, my second winterhawk fic!!, sam and steve are in here so i tagged but not rly, the title sounds rly dramatic but it's just lyrics, we didn't start the fire by billy joel, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 05:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18844216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theycallmemonchaton/pseuds/theycallmemonchaton
Summary: Bucky Barnes was gone for Clint Barton the moment he gave him a shit eating grin and handed him a flashdrive containing the song "We Didn't Start the Fire," by Billy Joel. Just in case, you know, Bucky "needed a hand" getting caught up to modern times.





	it was always burning

**Author's Note:**

> my second winterhawk fic! i love them! honestly this whole thing just came from the idea "what if bucky barnes used we didn't start the fire to catch up on the things he missed" and i ended up spitting out this fic

 For the first time in about seventy years, Bucky felt nervous. Feeling the elevator lift him, Sam, and Steve up toward the communal floor of the tower reflected the rising levels of anxiety he felt in stomach, tying his insides into knots.

 

Steve's blind faith in his team, his family, had convinced him that if he brought Bucky back, he'd be welcomed with open arms. "The team understands your actions weren't your own, Buck," Steve had said. But Bucky was less sure. He _had_ tried to kill almost all of them at one point or another. Hell, his last standing order from Hydra was terminate the Avengers and affiliates. If Shuri had made a mistake and his programming came back...

 

He didn't want to let Steve down. He knew Steve was vouching for him, just letting him in the tower, let alone free in the world. If he screwed up, it would reflect on Steve, on the Avengers, and on SHIELD. It was a lot of pressure for someone who still struggled to keep it under control when a particularly loud truck rattled by.

 

But Steve's faith was juxtaposed with Sam's realism. Sam laughed every time Bucky tried to voice his anxieties. Not to be mean, but to show him how absurd he sounded.

 

"Dude, you're gonna be in a building with the most powerful people on this planet and you think you could take us all out before we stopped you? You couldn't even fight Steve without your SuperEpicBromance getting in the way."

 

It wasn't just fear of hurting people, though. As much as he loved Steve, he was hard to be around. Steve tried to give him space, he really did, but he hovered, just across the room, always watching, waiting to see if the old Bucky would return. Bucky didn't know how to tell him that the old Bucky probably died in the fall.

 

The elevator dinged open and Bucky flinched, hard. He caught Sam in the shoulder and waited for an insult that never came. Instead, Sam clasped his shoulder.

 

"You're good, man, don't worry." He gently applied pressure to the shoulder, trying to push Bucky out the door, but Bucky still hesitated to leave the safety of the metal box. "They're expecting you."

 

Mechanically, Bucky forced his legs to work, carrying him out the door and into the Avengers' communal living space. He glanced around, cataloging exits and making note of anything that could be used as a weapon. Which, Bucky realized, was a lot.

 

Pieces of every Avenger decorated the area. Steve's sketchbooks lay about, a large table covered with random projects, half completed, with wired exploding from within, dominated the corner Bucky was passing by. What looked like a huge red cloak hung off the back of a chair in front of a large, empty ale mug, sweaters and shoes from the other Avengers were scattered around and Bucky eyed the large bow set that was dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

 

"Hey, Clint," Steve said, guiding Bucky into the area that seemed to be a designated kitchen space, complete with toasters, a microwave, stove, and coffee maker, which looked very well loved and stood out among the shiny new tech that adored the tower.

 

The man Steve spoke to looked up sharply, hitting his head against the open cabinet door above him. He had been so busy loading grounds into the coffee maker that he hadn't noticed them come in.

 

"Oh, hey, Cap," he said, grinning sheepishly. He reached up to his ears and fiddled with something and Bucky noticed the purple hearing aids.

 

"You ok?" Sam asked, not even attempting to hide the humor in his voice.

 

"Yeah, I'm good." Then, Clint's eyes zeroed in on Bucky, zeroed in as if he was staring down a sightline. "Oh shit! Hey, Bucky right? Or would you prefer James? Or maybe just Barnes? Whatever you're comfortable with, man." All Bucky could do was blink for a very long second after the words poured out of Clint's mouth. Distantly, Bucky realized this was the first time in a long time someone asked him what he wanted.

 

Bucky looked at Clint, really looked at him. Took in the chaotic blond hair, the wide blue eyes, the height, the mosaic of bruises and band aids that swam across every limb. The culmination of these details shouted Disaster Blond! Which, unfortunately, was exactly Bucky's type. Clint's open expression and goofy smile made something inside Bucky loosen, and he felt more relaxed than he ever had after months with Sam and Steve. Something tickled at the corner of his mind and instead of flinching away, Bucky grasped at it, pulling on it like a running thread. Bucky leaned a hip against the counter, crossed his arms, and cocked his head in a jaunty sort of pose that he vaguely remembered used to turn the dames wild.

 

"Steve calls me Bucky, but you can call me anytime, sweetheart." The corner of his mouth quirked up and Bucky wishes to this day he had a recording of the sound Steve made, like he was trying to swallow a golf ball.

 

Clint's eyes blinked, and his grin brightened by about two-hundred percent.

 

"Man, the way Steve talked about bringing you here, I half expected you to be a zombie or something! This is great! I mean the reports always said you were a real sweettalker, but really, they don't do you much justice." Buck found it easy to match his grin.

 

"Where's everyone else," Sam asked.

 

"They got called out on a press thing," Clint said. "Left me as the welcoming committee, since, y'know, no one wants to interview the 'normal Avenger.' Plus, they figured we should keep it small and we have the most kinda shared experiences."

 

"Shared experiences?"   
 

"Oh, you know, Sniper Buddies, and, uh, Brainwashed-into-Killing-A-Bunch-Of-People-You-Really-Didn't-Want-To Buddies," Clint said as he rubbed the back of his neck. Steve had told him about the Battle of New York and how Loki, under the influence of the Mind Stone, had taken over the minds of several people. Bucky knew Clint was Hawkeye, but he hadn't made the connection between _Hawkeye_ , and _Clint_ , the awkward, too-big-for-his-paws-puppy man in front of him.

 

At Bucky's hesitation, Clint must have thought he'd done something wrong, and he visibly shrunk back.

 

"Aw, backstory, no," he muttered.

 

"No, it's nothin' bad," Bucky reassured. "I'm glad there's someone here that gets what I went through." Clint's posture relaxed and he ran a hand through his hair.

 

"I almost forgot! One second," Clint called as he strode out of the kitchen, and, with legs like that, there really wasn't any way other that strode to describe the way he walked. "I got you a welcome present." He handed Bucky a small purple flashdrive.

 

"You didn't have to-"

  
"Just in case you _need a hand_ with getting caught up with the times." Clint's shit eating grin let Bucky know he had been planning that line for a while.

 

"Clint!" Steve croaked, but Bucky waved him off.

 

"Billy Joel, 'We Didn't Start the Fire.' If it's mentioned in the song, it's worth knowing. Everything else doesn't matter."

 

"I'll keep it in mind," Bucky smiled, tucking the drive into his pocket. From behind him, he could hear Sam muttering something to Steve about a copycat maneuver but he ignored him.

 

Clint drained the rest of his coffee and set down the mug with a loud clack.

 

"Well, I'll leave you three to get settled in, I scheduled some time to run the gauntlet this afternoon, so if any of you want to join me, I'll be on the training deck. Until then, I'm at the range."

 

As he watched Clint walk away, picking up his bow as he went past, Bucky realized the tight ball of anxiety he felt in his stomach had untangled. He turned to meet the staring gaze of Steve and the knowing smirk that decorated Sam's face.

 

Bucky didn't have a lot to move in. He had one box of things he collected from Steve and Wakanda and that was it. He still felt Steve's gaze crawling up his back and he felt itchy.

 

The rest of the team returned after a few hours and Bucky was introduced. He decided he liked Natasha, the woman he knew as Natalia, and Dr. Banner, the only two who didn't seem to walk on glass around him, other than Clint.

 

He slipped out early, not quite feeling overwhelmed, but tired. He asked JARVIS to take him to his room, the way Steve had shown him, and dumped himself onto his new bed.

 

For the next few weeks, he adjusted. He started going to the range with Clint, who dragged him out to different coffee shops and pizza parlors after every session. He met with a new therapist who said it was ok that he felt more relaxed around some people rather than others. He met Clint's dog, considered getting his own, and instead got a fish.

 

Being with Clint was easy. He was light and fun, but knew when to be serious. He was good at talking Bucky down from anxiety attacks. He also made Bucky feel free. With Clint, there were no expectations. Whenever Bucky was with Steve, even though Steve was accommodating and understanding, Bucky still felt this pressure to live up to Steve's expectations. He wanted to be the old Bucky, but that Bucky came and went. Sometimes he was easygoing and relaxed, with a smart mouth and a cocksure attitude. But other days he was tired and quiet, or jittery and alert. Steve always wanted to know why. Clint always accepted and adjusted. If they had plans to try a new pizza place and Bucky was too anxious to be around crowds, the ordered in instead. It was easy, being friends with Clint.

 

But then Clint had to go and it was a week before he'd see him again. He had gotten called out on a mission late one night and spirited off to a small country in Europe.

 

The third night he was gone, Bucky finally hooked the flashdrive up to the stereo in his room. He hadn’t forgotten Clint's first gift, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to be exposed to everything he missed. It would show him how much had passed him by, how much the world had changed.

 

Jangling notes shattered the silence of the room.

 

"Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray..." Bucky sat down on the edge of his bed and listened.

 

Almost as quickly as it had begun, the song was over. It was such a mass of information that Bucky had to sit for a second. It really began to settle on him that he had missed so much.

 

"Hey, JARVIS?"

 

"Yes, Sergeant Barnes?"

 

"Is there any way you could give me a rundown on everything this song means?"

 

"Of course, Sir."

 

Bucky leaned back on his bed, hands clasped behind his head, and listened.

 

\---

Clint's mission sucked. His job was to spend a week infiltrating the Bosnian Circus that was traveling through Latveria, near Dr. Doom's current operations. Clint was sent for being an actual ex-carnie, but also for his bulletproof Bosnian cover. Usually, he would've had Nat for back up because she made a convincing acrobat, but their last mission in the Balkans had blown Nat's cover wide open and she needed to lay low for a little while.

 

For the next week he was going to be Aleksandar Kodro, acrobat for the _Circus Supreme_ , or whatever it's equivalent is in Bosnian. He twisted through the air, sliding through hoops like a hot knife through butter. It brought back some of his better days, before he learned his circus home was a front for nefarious deeds. There was the comradery that he loved as he clasped his fellow acrobats on the shoulder, congratulating them on another successful show. It was the family dynamic he craved.

 

From such a tumultuous childhood birthed a need in Clint to have people around him he trusted, people he saw as his family. He had that with the Avengers and it was growing within this circus as well. After five days, he felt right at home.

 

On the sixth, however, things went south. Doom had found out there was an operative in the circus, just as it was scheduled to perform in his castle. Clint knew the safe thing to do was pull out. They could have another mission when he wasn't compromised. But Clint also knew that Doom didn't know who he was, just that he was there. If he stuck around a little longer, he'd get the intel and the mission would be a success.

 

But Clint had underestimated things. Actually, underestimating things was an understatement. Currently, Clint Barton, The Amazing Hawkeye, was crouched behind a cluster of barrels, frantically trying to make a call.

 

"Hello?" Was the cautious response.

 

"Hello? Hey, who is this?" Clint shouted, trying to be heard over the yelling of the flaming circus.

 

"Barton? Clint? Is that you?"

 

"Yeah!"

 

"It's Bucky, is everything ok? I thought you were undercover in Croatia?"

 

"It's Bosnia," Clint yelled. "Listen, I can't talk too much but tell the team I need immediate extraction! I've been compromised and I don't know how much longer I can hide!" Without even seeing, Clint could feel Bucky's whole demeanor change.

 

"Where are you exactly?"

 

"Just tell Tony! He can trace my location. Get the team, things are really hairy right now!"

 

"Clint, the team got called out, it's just me in the tower right now." Bucky's voice sounded so sorry Clint was almost ready to comfort _him_.

 

"Ok, ok cool. You're not cleared yet, huh? That’s ok. I can hold out until they're done."

 

"Is there anyone else I can call?"

 

"Maybe Coulson and the Agents? Fitzsimmons owes me a favor, I think." Something exploded off to Clint's right and he flinched, dropping the phone.

 

"What was that?" Bucky demanded.

 

"I think a helium tank exploded," Clint yelled back. "I'm fine though, just tell the team--" Clint was unable to finish his thought. The ice cold barrel of a gun was resting softly at the back of his neck.

 

"Hello, Avenger," a smooth, robotic voice said. Clint sighed. His aids could just pick up the small, tinny voice of Bucky frantically demanding to know what's going on.

 

"Hello, Mister Police," Clint said in a crackly voice, mimicking a dumb movie poster he had seen once.

 

"You're coming with us," it demanded.

 

"I think if I had a decent mommy, she would've told me never to leave with strangers," Clint offered. A metallic hand snatched the phone out of Clint's grasp and smashed it. "That… wasn't yours."

 

"You have twenty seconds to comply." All Clint could think about, however, was Bucky on the other end of that line, and how stressed Clint had just made him.

 

"You know, I really don't think I can fit that in my schedule--" Clint started to say. He wasn’t able to finish though, because he got pistol-whipped by the box of bolts behind him.

 

\---

When Clint woke up, he was strapped to a table and missing his shirt and not in the fun way. It was freezing in the room, he could see his breath fog above his face. Tentatively, he tested his bonds. They were tight, too tight. It was as if they had known he was good at twisting out of tight spaces.

 

Ultimately, Clint's boredom won out.

 

"Hellooooo," He called. "It's pretty cold in here, I don't think I'd mind if you turned the heat up a little bit!" As if on cue, the doors slid open. Clint couldn't see it, but whoever had taken him had been kind enough to leave his aids in.

 

"Clint Barton, Hawkeye, resident of Avenger's Tower." Clint allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. So they didn't know about the building in Bed-Stuy.

 

"Doombot, built by Doctor Doom, resident of Latveria."

 

"You were not given permission to speak." Something pricked his arm, never a good sign, and he could feel something flow into him. It burned, to say the least. By the time the feeling dissipated, Clint was sweaty and his teeth were chattering.

 

"You will tell us what you were here for."

 

"You see, that'd be fine with me, but I'm not really at liberty to discuss ongoing investigations."

 

There was a snick and then a woosh and then Clint felt very, very warm. The bastard was trying to burn the answers out of him.

 

"That's not exactly what I meant when I asked you to turn up the heat."

 

"You have fifteen seconds to answer."

 

"Sorry, what was the question again?"

 

"Times up."

 

Clint screamed.

 

Honestly, Clint wasn't sure how long he was there, strapped to that table. It sounded cliché but he could've been there for hours or days.

 

Finally, they tipped the table so he was upright. His head lolled. His aids were beginning to die. He couldn't remember the last time they had been charged.

 

He hadn't talked though. Nothing about his mission. They'd asked quite a bit about The Winter Soldier, too, but all that has passed Clint's mouth were quippy remarks and sarcastic statements.

 

"He's useless," he heard them say. "They obviously don't tell this one anything. However, the diversion tactic worked. The other Avengers were willing to leave this one to fight against the legion of doombots sent to Manhattan. Next time, we just need to get a more informed agent."

 

"We can dispose of him now."

 

The door peeled open like wrapping paper. A metal hand punched its way through the empty bodies of doombots. Clint tried to focus on the action, but things were moving too fast.

 

When the room was quiet again, he tried to pry open his eyes. A hand, cool and metallic gently cupped his chin, drawing his head up.

 

"Hey, sweetheart," Bucky Barnes said softly. "Sorry it took so long, I had to steal the jet."

 

"On the contrary, seeing as they're just now deciding to kill me, I figure you're right on time."

 

"C'mere, doll, let's get you home."

 

Bucky gathered Clint in his arms like a ragdoll and gently carried him out of the room, mindful of the burns. After finally being safe, Clint allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness.

 

He awoke slowly, this time in a soft bed, with light filtering its way through sheer curtains. The room was blissfully silent, someone had been mindful enough to remove his aids and from the way his body wasn't experiencing pain, he knew he was on some good stuff. His eyes roamed the room and he realized he wasn't alone.

 

Bucky sat curled up in a vinyl chair, looking cramped and uncomfortable.

 

Clint must've made a noise because Bucky stirred. His steel blue eyes met Clint's and softened. He had dark circles under his eyes.

 

"You look like shit," Clint croaked. Bucky laughed, reaching over to the side table. He helped Clint fit his aids into his ears before sitting back in his seat.

 

"Sorry, darling, but you're no bloomin' flower neither." Clint grinned back at him.

 

"I was hoping the outdated pet names weren't a fever dream." Bucky met his grin and beamed.

 

"Well, Johnny Ray, I'm glad you don't mind, because I have plenty." Clint's head tilted.

 

"You listened to the song!"

 

"'Course I did. Wasn't half bad." Clint leaned back, smiling.

 

"It's a classic, what can I say. When I get out of here, I'll have to show you some of the movies you missed. _Speed_ is an essential."

 

"It's a date," Bucky said easily. Clint's eyes widened.

 

"Really? I mean I was always plannin' on askin' you out, but I figured you might want to settle in some more or maybe you didn't really think about dating or anything?" Clint was rambling, he knew, but it was hard to stop. Bucky only laughed and placed a hand on his knee.

 

"Clint, sweetheart, I meant a date on the calendar."

 

"Oh." Clint deflated. He felt like an idiot. "Yeah, haha, I should've realized that's what you meant. Just forget I said anything."

 

"Doll, I've been ready to go steady with you since you handed me that song and asked if I needed a hand. If you want it to be a _date_ , then it's a _date_."

 

Clint shuffled himself up, wincing. Feebly, he reached out. Bucky, anticipating his movement, leaned forward at the same time. They met in the middle, lips brushing softly.

 

When they pulled away, they didn't bother with distance. Clint rested his forehead against Bucky's and grinned again.

 

"Should'a known you’d call it something cheesy like 'going steady.'"

 

"Honey, I'll call it whatever you want."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! if you have any suggestions or comments leave them below!! thanks <3


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